Migrant Falling
by Admiral Saris
Summary: The rise of the Guardians, the birth of the Iron Lords, and Migrants Falling.
1. Migrant Falling 01

Migrant Falling: Prologue 01

" _There are no secrets time does not reveal."- Jean Racine, Human Playwright_

First contact between the Citadel Races and Humanity occurred during the Relay 314 Incident in 2657CE. That's the official story. Written as doctrine in every history book, official file, and taught in each classroom in Citadel space. Its common knowledge, ingrained in the psyche of each race, and preached as gospel from the pulpit of the sanctioned position. There is even an element of truth in the official story. When a Turian patrol encountered a small group of Human craft at the Relay, it was the first contact between legitimate members of each faction. But it isn't the truth. It wasn't the first encounter between these races.

Beyond Citadel Space and the Attican Traverse, the dubious Terminus systems slowly and steadily expanded their nebulous borders. New races were encountered, ships from distant and bizarre ports, and places far beyond the realms where the Protheans had ever dwelled. Actual contact had been off and on for centuries, it was second and third hand, mysterious, rumors from the edge of space that were denied, ignored, or buried in labyrinth bureaucracy of the Citadel.

In 1674CE the Batarian Tarak Vorhess wrote a book _Beyond the Relays._ He claimed that he went on a decade long voyage beyond the Relays in the Terminus systems into unexplored space. During his journey he meets a strange alien he dubbed "the Shadow Man", a strange Asari like figure wreathed in darkness, who became his traveling companion. While exploring the Shadow Man advises Vorhess to hide from a massive dreadnaught that he claimed claims belonged to the "Hive," as it would likely attack them. While it was written as an autobiography _Beyond the Relays_ was widely regarded as a fiction, but did spawn several conspiracy theories and developed a cult following that lasted for several decades.

In 1858CE Salarian STG examined the planet 433 Spidau in the Attican Traverse. They found several derelict orbital satellites, drifting hulks of spacecraft, and scans showed the ruins of over ninety cities on the planet with considerable ambient radiation. Close examination of the planet revealed that the damage was recent, barely seventy years old. It was declared to the galactic public that the Spidau killed themselves in several nuclear wars. However several on site investigators found evidence that revealed alien involvement. All evidence, reports, photographs, and data were filed into the STG Archives and given a vermilion grade security clearance. As per STG regulations all evidence was expunged in the 2400 centennial Archive review, after it was determined that no one other than Archive reviewers had looked at the files and evidence in two hundred years.

Beginning in 1903CE, there are dozens of reported contacts over the following centuries in the deep Terminus systems with "Dark Ships". The ships trade bits of advanced technology for unusual objects, information, or people. Urban myths of the "collectors", a strange humanoid race with spiked armor and advanced weapons become common. Dozens of investigations by Specters, STG, and other organizations produce no reliable evidence or witnesses to prove the existence of these "Collectors". Rumors persist.

In 2395CE the Geth revolted against their Quarian creators, driving them from their homeworld and all their colonies in the Perseus Veil. When the Geth didn't follow, the Citadel Council breathed a collective sigh of relief and simply ordered the region off limits. But just because the Geth did not invade the Citadel, did not mean they were idle. Their fleet and armies burgeoned, their shipyards swelled, and they began to expand under the blind eyes of the Citadel. By 2398CE they encountered the abandoned outer colonies of mankind and began entering into conflict with Human warships and soldiers over the remains of their shattered Empire. There was evidence of conflict of course, a steady stream of Geth Warships and legions of Geth warframes out of the Perseus Veil… but if anything ever reached the Council it was so thoroughly repressed that by 2657CE all of it had effectively never existed.

But these are shadow events, hidden wrinkles in the tapestry of history stretching over a millennium. Easily overlooked minutia further obscured by the passage of time. But the real contact, where the citadel censors and bureaucratic defenders of the status quo swung into overdrive, where facts and uncomfortable truths were executed behind chemical sheds and relevant witnesses ostracized and discredited, began in 2399 when the Migrant Flotilla were banished from the Citadel Council and exiled to the Terminus systems. Rather than live as refugees in a fleet of dying ships, The Migrant Fleet set a course beyond known space, past the Traverse, Terminus, and Perseus Veil, into the unknown regions beyond relay 314. Into Darkness.

* * *

I'm way too rusty for my own good

I just wanted to give some honorable mentions here… The Destiny/Mass Effect community is a small one, and if these guys hadn't tried to get the ball rolling I wouldn't have tipped my hat into the game. So thanks guys, my hats off to you… and I'm an Admiral. It's an impressive hat. Wide brim, big feathers, baby seal upholstery. Seriously no expense spared on this monster.

TheLastEidolon: The Gathering Darkness. An interesting take on what happens when the Citadel goes exploring. I found the Human side of his story rather bland, but the Citadel characters interesting and boldly going somewhere... which is unusual for Mass Effect fics and an always welcome change.

Fyiad: Son of Light. A character joins the Mass Effect 2 crew story. It's well written, and worth a read, and occasionally the main character's thoughts and dialogue are genuinely interesting. The only minor annoyance I have with this fic is that Odin seems to have every exotic in the game, and always seems to have the right power ready to go. It's probably a terrible thing to say, but I find myself desperately wanting a scene where he gets creamed because he has the wrong weapon or subclass equipped.

What is Migrant Falling? My take on a Destiny/Mass Effect Universe. Best regards- Admiral Saris.


	2. Shan-Xi

" _Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."- Edger Allen Poe, human poet_

 _Shan-Xi, Abandoned Human Colony_

"Guardian, Guardian, eyes up Guardian." A voice spoke.

She spasmed in agony, like someone had set her insides on fire. "Wha?" She sputtered out, her eyes snapped around swallowing the ruined landscape. There was a wall of concrete and decaying steel half a hundred feet high, stretching out to the horizon. Rusted cars piled bumper to bumper surrounded her. A floating ball hovered by her face.

"It worked… you're alive!" the floating ball said, "You don't know how long I've been looking for you."

"Where am I?" She asked rising to her feet, "and what are you?" she reached out and touched the drone. It was solid, but she had no trouble gently pushing it through the air.

"Listen Guardian," the ball said, "I'm a Ghost. Actually, now I'm your Ghost. And you… well you've been dead a long time. So you're going to see a lot of things you don't understand. This is dangerous territory, we aren't safe here. We need to move Guardian." For a moment she stood there, then the genuine worry in the ghost's voice finally reached her. She ran. No she didn't run, her cloudy mind provided flashes of running, a young girl weaving across a field, endless circles around a track. That isn't how she ran now. She RAN, she ran like the lovechild of a sprinter and gymnast, in seconds she cleared over a hundred yards of rusted cars, not losing a step as she darted around or leaped over them. She hurdled upward, an impossible leap, catching a rail and with one hand hauling herself to the third floor. Without pause she sprinted into the monolithic structure.

It wasn't exhaustion that slowed her. Her breath didn't hitch; her legs didn't scream in agony, her lungs weren't on fire. It was darkness that halted her flight. The building was a ruin, rusted, and falling apart. Not a place for haste. The Ghost… her Ghost activated some kind of headlight program, illuminating the area in front of her.

"So… What's a ghost?" Shepard asked stepping around a puddle.

"Okay," her ghost hovered after her, staying near her shoulder. "I was born when the Traveler died, and I've spent centuries looking for you, my Guardian, to help save humanity from the Darkness."

"I don't know what that means." There was a haze in her mind, a shrouded fog blocking details of her past. There were images, indistinct, a moon made of metal hovering over a red world, some techno-monster tentacled and menacing, dragons darkening the sky, screaming and pain, blaring horns, the crush of metal. "I don't know what that means," she said again, shaking her head to clear the images. The Ghost… her Ghost floated down, near her face, and its eye made it look… sad? Confused?

"Guardian, I know it's a lot to take in and that you're confused. I promise that I can fill you in on everything but right now we have to get away."

"Who are we running from?" She asked.

"I'm not sure. They arrived in orbit a few months ago. Just a single ship. Now there're thousands in the system and they're looting all over the colony." Her Ghost answered.

"How do you know they're dangerous?"

"A few reasons. The aliens out there aren't a team of scientists or explorers. They aren't studying our technology or trying to learn about humanity. They're looting, ripping apart machines, violating the graves of the humans who died here to scavenge trinkets. It doesn't paint a pretty picture. Plus we've encountered alien races before and it never ends well. The Cabal war machine is inexhaustible. The Hive are… evil. I've even heard rumors about a race of machines. Some kind of synthetic consensus. We've started calling them the Vexx but we don't really know anything about them."

"We?" She asked growing frustrated. There was so much she didn't know, couldn't remember, every answer from the ghost left her more confused.

The passages seemed to be growing darker, swallowing the paltry light of her ghost. She could hear the echoes of the others moving. Clanking of pipes, thumping of armored boots on rusting metal, braying of alien voices echoing in the gloom.

"The Tower," her Ghost said, "Its where the other guardians live. The last hope of humanity and the Traveler. If we escape Guardian we'll be welcome there."

"Stop calling me Guardian. I have a name." There was an awkward pause as she worked her way under a partially collapsed wall. Crawling and squeezing her way through an opening in the rubble.

"What's your name?" Her Ghost asked.

"Oh sorry," she said "Its…" her mouth moved but no sound came. She strained trying to push through the fog in her head, only to find her faulty memories failing. "I…I can't remember. I don't know who I am."

"If I could make a suggestion. You have the word Shepard tattooed on your arm." She stopped to examine her arm. There it was, a bold, crimson heart with Shepard engraved across it. When she looked at it she had memories of a man's face. Strong jawed with very short cut hair. Somehow she knew it wasn't her name. Still, the face wasn't an unpleasant one and she did need a name. "Yeah, alright, I'm Shepard, nice to meet you… uh, what do I call you?"

"Ghost."

"You need a name." She said with a glare to the eyeball. Its shell rotated around making it look befuddled, then thoughtful.

"Shepard's Ghost?" It said tentatively.

"No." She deadpanned. "Something personnel. Something you."

"Like what?" Her Ghost asked. Shepard put her hand on her chin.

"Anything really. Alfred, Data, Dinklebot, Nolan North, Navigator Pressly, Charlie Young, River…" She listed off a litany of names pulled from…somewhere.

"Very well, I am Navigator Pressly." The newly dubbed Navigator Pressly stated.

"Wait, we can do better than that."

"Too late. I am Navigator Pressly." Pressly insisted. Shepard sighed.

"All right then Navigator Pressly, how do we get out of -!" Shepard's sentence transmuted into a shout of alarm as one of the aliens leapt around a corner, braying in its bizarre language. It was humanoid, lanky, and somewhat short. Its knees reversed like a birds and it had a violet tint to the faceplate on its helmet, but it didn't conceal the alien's sinister glowing eyes. But it was the gun that got her undivided attention. It was a monster of a gun, a pistol so large it more resembled a cannon scaled down to his hand than anything one would normally consider a pistol.

Unknown to the newly reborn Guardian, the weapon held by the alien was considered something of a botch in the wider galaxy. Designed by Batarian State Arms exclusively for use by Krogan, the gun actually excelled at what it was designed for. That is, it was a pistol designed to be used by a 1,200 pound creature with overwhelming physical strength, to hammer shields, rip through armor, and end anyone or anything the wielder wanted dead in one or two shots. Unfortunately there's a reason most prefer to use shotguns and assault rifles most Krogan are mediocre shots at best, and downright embarrassingly bad on average. Given that the pistol in question was a slow firing weapon that demanded decent aiming skills to be successful; is it any kind of mystery that the gun sold poorly? Of course this left Batarian State Arms in something of a bind. They had a massive run of weapons that their target market wasn't interested in buying and no one else could realistically use. So they turned to the one race desperate for whatever they could get, and offloaded thousands of the guns at rock bottom prices (then marked the sale as a charity donation on their Citadel tax forms)… and the Quarian Migrant Fleet was ecstatic to have whatever it could get its hands on. Unfortunately Quarians are not 1200 pound creatures possessing an overabundance of physical might. As a point of fact most Quarians were somewhat lackluster in terms of their upper body strength being roughly on par with the likes of Salarians and Asari. Even in his armored suit the alien before Shepard barely weighed two hundred pounds and had the upper body strength of a human teenager… and not a particularly athletic teenager at that.

Its first shot hit her nearly dead center, striking her shields. She surged forward, some wild survival instinct pressing her to attack instead of retreat. So instinctive was her attack, so sudden, she didn't stop to think or ask where her shields had come from.

Overwhelmed by recoil, the aliens second shot was nearly a meter over her head and struck the pipes along the ceiling, spraying rust and stagnant water across the walkway. The alien tried to bring its pistol down, but Shepard was faster. She lunged into his space, her fist crashing into his faceplate. Had she been a normal human her blow would have rebounded off the reinforced material, but might have disoriented or unbalanced the alien. But Shepard was not a normal human. She was a guardian, born again in the light of the Traveler. Her body cloaked in a shield of solar energy, her mind tapped into the power of an ancient god machine, and her muscles infused with might far beyond what any mortal member of any race could ever dream. Her strike did not rebound off his helmet. Her attack did not disorient. Her fist, burning with an inferno of power, melted through his faceplate on contact, liquefied his head and turned the soup like remains into a torrent of steam that burst back through the dissolving faceplate and back into Shepard and billowed out the back as her hand pushed out the far side of the helmet.

"Shit!" She yelled, leaping back from the decapitated corpse, there wasn't any blood on her arm and that saved her. If her arm had been coated red or blue or… she probably would have lost it.

"Scorch." Navigator Pressly said with genuine joy. His mechanical shell whirling to push clear the smoke that now covered them both. "Achieved by concentrating Solar light around a part of your body for a melee strike."

"I don't know what that means!" Shepard snapped, desperately trying not to inhale any of the alien vapor and trying to keep from freaking out any further over the dead alien.

"Considering you've had no training it shows you have a remarkable affinity for Solar light. Which is good, since we'll need that to get out of her alive. But if you're this strongly attuned to Solar light you'll probably have difficulty learning the other Warlock Paths that utilize Void or Arc light."

"I don't know what that means." Shepard said once more, oddly finding that her omnipresent confusion was a comfortable emotional shield from the hard truth of the dead body.

"You should take his pistol," her Navigator encouraged, floating over and nudging her cheek. "We're probably going to need it."

"Yeah." It took her a minute to get the pistol out of the alien's death grip on the weapon. "Where are we going anyway?"

"For now," Pressly said, "anywhere but here." So they went deeper into the decomposing structure, seeking the light, and a way out of the darkness.

* * *

"This place is incredible!" Rael Zorah said to his friend Han Garrel. "Absolutely magnificent. Imagine, a space faring civilization, completely bereft of Element Zero."

"Uh-huh." Han Garrel said while carefully scanning nearby doors and windows, "Rael. I don't have to imagine it," he pointed toward a nearby building, "it's literally right there."

Even though Han couldn't see it, Rael scowled at him. "I know that I'm probably getting annoying about this, but you've been a jerk since we got here. This is our chance… or at least it might be. It's certainly an incredible discovery at least. Who knows what kind of technology we're going to find? What it could mean for the Fleet? Or even the Citadel?"

Han didn't bother looking at him, just continued his wary scan of the area. "Whatever's here didn't seem to do the natives much good." He grumbled.

Rael looked startled… which is something of an achievement in a full body suit. He'd assumed his friends issue was something personal. "What do you mean?" The tech savvy Quarian asked.

"Somethings wrong and I'm trying to figure it out. This planet has a lot of infrastructure, multiple cities, towns, continent spanning road systems… you don't just abandon a place you've put that much into unless you have to. So if it was conquered, why aren't the conquerors here? If it was a disease why isn't there any kind of warning signals from satellites in orbit? Plus we're only what? Thirty some odd light years from Relay 314? You can't tell me the Citadel's never been out here? There's just too many things wrong with this place."

Rael spent a few moments fiddling with some copper wiring he pulled from a wall. He wasn't really focusing on the work, but he thought better when his hands were working. "Well," the tech savvy Quarian said, "If you think about it, we don't know what happened to the Protheans either. Maybe what happened here, whatever it was, would make perfect sense to aliens even if it seems utterly bizzare to us. Maybe they didn't leave warning satellites because they had already informed everyone or maybe they thought it would be obvious, or perhaps they did leave some kind of warning and we simply weren't able to read it. As for the Citadel… well thirty light years is a long way without a mass relay. Our ancestors discovered spaceflight almost 2,000 years ago and we only ever explored what? Sixty light years around Rannoch, eighty? Outside the Relay Network it just takes too long to get anywhere. I don't know why you think people would go exploring the better part of a month away from a dormant relay in the backwater parts of the Attican Traverse."

"Uh-huh," Han Garrel said continuing his vigil. Rael grit his teeth as his completely reasonable suggestions washed over his friend like water over a rock. Just as he was about to rebound and deliver another well thought out diatribe, Rael's omni-tool began to beep with an incoming communication.

"This is Rael Zorah," he said trying not to wince as Captain Virixas appeared on his omni-tools screen. It wasn't that he didn't like her but he was still young enough to find being called by people in authority more annoying than anything. "Can I help you captain?"

"I need you both to move, we've had a problem and I'm gathering a posse to deal with it." Rael looked up at Han, who somehow managed to be smug while staring off into the distance. A direction marker showed up on his omnitool, which he quickly transferred to his and his friends HUDs. Barely a mile away. Attaching the copper wire to his belt the pair of them set off toward the rendezvous point.

"What kind of problem?" He asked.

"A pilgrim spotted a spy drone of some sort that led him to an Asari observer. We lost contact when he followed her into the large barrier structure that surrounds the area."

"How did an Asari get here without the fleet picking her up?" Han asked, quickly butting into the conversion.

"We don't know. We're starting a search in orbit, but for now we need to get our hands on that Asari. I'm sending a pair of skiffs to the rendezvous so we can better organize a search, but it'll take about half an hour to get them loaded and deployed. You two be careful, no heroes." She said ending the conversation.

Rael turned to his friend. "Don't you dare say it."

"Say what?" Han asked. Far too innocently to not know what Rael was talking about.

"I told you so. Don't you dare say it."

"Didn't plan on it." The smug quarrian drawled, "You're pretty sharp, so I figured you'd remember."

The two made their way to the coordinates, moving slowly through the dilapidated structures. When they arrived it was to find others already waiting. Near on a dozen Quarians stood around in a clearing. It didn't take the two fresh arrivals long to mingle. There were nods aplenty, and introductions, and general gossip exchanged.

Most of them were from the lower ranks. Technicians, environmental control workers, laborers… and standing alone near the back, deliberately excluding himself from the dregs of Quarian society was a scientist. His polished environmental suit was of the 30,000 credit variety… probably costing more than all the equipment held by the rest of them put together. Even his gun was a lavish display of ostentation. It wasn't a Batarian or Turian cast off shotgun or heavy pistol like most quarrians preferred, but a genuine long range hunting rifle. The kind of gun you bought just to say you had one.

"Can you believe that guy?" He said nudging his friend.

"Meh." Han said looking anywhere but at the assembled Quarians.

"Is there a problem dreg?" The scientist's question was quick, crisp, and loaded with enough derision to sink a Turian Dreadnaught.

"No." Rael said deliberately lowering his gaze to stare at the mans holstered prize gun. "Just a waste." That got him a few snickers and laughs that tried to mutate into coughs from the milling Quarians.

The sound of a mass effect weapon opening fire abruptly ended all conversations. Han Garrel's pistol barked in single shot, disciplined fire. As fast as he could fire without overheating the weapon. Rael whirled around trying to spot what his friend was firing at.

The Asari was atop a nearby structure, blasting wildly with her own weapon. A nearby Quarians barriers flashed in protest but didn't stop the round and Rael recoiled as a woman scream started and cut off in an instant, a fountain of blood and venting atmosphere shot into the air as her suit was breached. Others around him were firing and it took Rael a second to realize he hadn't drawn a weapon yet.

He raised his pistol and fired. Bits of the building were crumbling off, but Rael couldn't tell who had hit and whose rounds hit only sky. Then she leapt. Ten, fifteen meters into the air, his mind boggled as her biotics and barriers flared under the (admittedly inaccurate) fire from the Quarians. Then, as she soared over their heads, she threw three small items. Hand sized. Round. Rael's brain spun pointlessly in circles for a moment until he realized why they were. Grenades.

With the advent of the Kinetic Barrier grenades had largely disappeared from modern warfare. An explosive canister simply couldn't compete with the state of the art barriers, only weapons utilizing mass effect principles to accelerate objects to incredible speeds could produce the energy required to reliably pierce a respectable barrier. Only police forces occasionally used smoke or gas grenades as non-lethal aids. But then, only one Quarian down here had a decent barrier. Rael's barrier had trouble with a strong rain.

"Han! Grenade!" Rael shouted, tackling his larger friend to the ground as the first grenade exploded. It wasn't a fragmentation grenade. It was so much worse. An inferno erupted where each grenade fell, igniting anyone in the radius. Metal ran like water and flesh turned to gas as the miniature suns consumed all in their wake. Only the scientists barriers lasted long enough for him to scream… and Rael. He'd been at the edge of one of the blasts. His barriers popped and his suit became an oven, roasting him alive as cooling systems burned out. An instant of agony, then darkness.

* * *

She stood alone. The ground around her was scorched beyond recognition. The air seared of all moisture. Bodies in various state of…melted… littered the clearing. She didn't feel tired per say. But there was an emptiness, a hollowness in her that made her want to weep.

"Radiance," Navigator Pressly said as he hovered from body to body, scanning them. "A massive rush of Solar Energy that both protects and destroys. The crowning glory of a Sunsinger Warlock."

"I don't know what that means." She said, looking skyward. Anywhere but down. Anywhere but at the bodies. "I don't know what came over me. One moment I thought I was dead, then I was in the air… and then I…"

"There are three types of Guardians and nine subtypes. Hunters, Titans, and Warlocks. You are a Sunsinger, a Warlock of the Solar Zenith, when the Light is at its most brilliant and overwhelming."

She turned then, looking at the ghost over her shoulder, a sad smile on her face. "I don't know what that means." Navigator Pressly floated there, his mind more powerful than all the computers of ancient earth, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

Then one of the aliens groaned. Shepard's gaze hardened and with slow but firm strides she strode to the alien. For a moment, Navigator Pressly floated, grateful that the alien had saved him from having to find the right thing to say to the most important person his life. Then he recalled it was an alien, at which point he sped over to Shepard and hoped she killed it. With fire. Lots of fire.

* * *

Rael Zorah struggled to move. He wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious, but he was slow, sluggish… heavy. His suit was unresponsive, its circuits either melted by the attack or overclocked by his overcompensating cooling systems. Tentatively he reached over to try and activate his omnitool. He couldn't see it, his visor had bubbled and deformed. He gave a mental cheer as he heard the tell-tale ping of his omnitool initiating. From memory he began to activate various suit maintenance and repair protocols. He figured most of the suit was beyond repair, but if he could route power through paths that remained he could possibly restore enough limited function to call for help and get to an extraction.

With a groan he started to sit up. "Han? You there? Han?" He started climbing to his feet until a boot hit him in the chest and sprawled him flat on his back. He bit his lip to stop from screaming. It tasted like burnt jerky. Then he screamed.

"I surrender!" He shouted, "I surrender! So don't shoot me…please?" He begged.

Then the Asari spoke. And then his omnitool beeped an error.

"My omnitool must be damaged," he said in as calm a voice as he could force. "can you set yours to translate for both of us?"

"She said take your helmet off." A voice said in broken Western Reaches, one of the surviving Quarian languages. Rael tried to spot the second speaker. The voice was close, but his visor was so mangled he could only make out a blurred outline of the Asari who's foot was pinning him to the ground. And her pistol. He could discern enough of the blocky shape fifteen and a half centimeters from his faceplate to make a reasonably guess that is was a very large barrier smashing instrument of death.

"I can't, I'll get sick" He said. Very calmly. Very steadily.

The Asari spoke again, but this time there was an overlap, if he concentrated he could hear her speaking Asari gibberish but his own language was layered on top of them.

"I don't care. I just killed like twenty of you." Rael had never met an Asari in person, but he'd seen them in films and on the extranet, and he thought she sounded bewildered? Sad? There was definitely some emotion there. "And I want to see your face. So you take your helmet off… or else." She finished.

Rael got the sense that she wasn't entirely sure what the 'or else' was. But then he really had no incentive for her to figure it out. "Okay," he said, "but I'll need to use my hands." Slowly he moved his hands, and with one deep breath of his remaining filtered air he pulled his faceplate off… and found himself staring into the orange eyes of an alien. Under the purple tint of his visor he'd been sure she was an Asari in a funny hat (there was no accounting for Asari fashion). She had the same physical structure, mammary glands, even the shape and proportions of her face were nearly identical to the Asari. The similarity was astounding, but the differences were just as vast now that he could see them with his unmodified eyesight. Her skin was a pinkish white flesh, not the blue scales of an Asari, she lacked the headcrest but had obsidian colored fur to replace it. There must be other differences he realized. This alien carried her monstrosity of a pistol one handed, something most Asari would struggle with.

He then made one of the greatest mistakes of his life. He breathed. In addition to ancestors knows what microbes, he got his first whiff of a dozen burned Quarians. A hack became a cough, which became a fit, and soon his lungs were in full rebellion sending him into a gasping hyperventilating state where he couldn't get enough air. His eyes locked on the small droid by her head, noticing it for the first time. He tried to form a question, an apology, anything, but his condition continued to worsen.

"You, you people." She snarled, "Get off my planet. Just go away." Then she stepped back and walked away. Her armored boot crushing his faceplate in passing. The drone, the droid, the… thing floated after her, but its eye stayed on him until they were out of sight.

* * *

Authors note:

And here we go…

A matter of scale: Keep your pitchforks at bay! Please! I know Humanity in Destiny never expanded beyond the solar system, but I needed a little more elbow room to make things work. So I decided that in their Golden Age mankind traveled to and colonized quite a few star systems. Although they were all destroyed/abandoned/dropped contact during the collapse or in the aftermath. I'll do an article in a few chapters on why I made this choice, but for the most part I don't think it matters much. Destiny is a universe where mankind stands at the edge of the extinction with just enough spoonfulls hope to keep us fighting. So long as I can keep that feeling, I think I'm doing the franchise justice… even if a couple of details get altered to make a crossover work.

Review Response:

Timeline: For the dating system I used the Citadel Era. The number of years that passed from the founding of the Citadel Council by the Asari and Salarians. I'm leaving the Human side of the timeline a little vague for now. It'll probably start becoming clear in the next few chapters but for now I'd like to leave everyone in Shepard's shoes. But every time I use an official date I'll always use the Citadel Dating system.

Kurogane7: Sadly Tarak wasn't particularly clear in his book who he met, or perhaps the shadow man just wasn't very revealing with him. Honesty to on, I'd like to keep this little tidbit under wraps. A good mystery can add a lot to a fic I think.


	3. Everything You Need To Know

" _Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent."- Isaac Asimov, Human Writer_

" _Violence is only the last resort of the foolish."- Unknown Guardian._

 _Shan-Xi_

Three hunters sat in a cockpit, clustered around the tactical display, trying to bring some order to the madness in front of them. Fifty thousand ships, orbiting the abandoned colony like ravens circling a graveyard… and nothing the Guardians could do would dislodge them.

Gheleon was the senior guardian… though he had the least to contribute to the heated discussion being waged. There were considerable wagers at stake between various guardians on whether Gheleon could speak at all. Some argued that, as a guardian, his ghost would have fixed anything physically preventing him from speaking, so he must deliberately choose not to speak. Others argued that it must be some sort of curse, or unhealable physical damage that caused his silence. Regardless, he sat mutely, observing the other members of his fireteam as they argued back and forth. His ghost had never been named, for no guardian would name another's ghost, but it hovered dutifully over its companions shoulder, its sand colored shell as immobile as its master's vocals.

The next guardian was Efrideet. While most Guardians were at the peak of physical health, Efrideet was not. Somehow, she'd gorged herself to be quite large, even overcoming her inner lights efforts to trim her down. The effect was made worse by the fact that she was quite short. Though she was not in any way, shape, or form a bowling ball. Despite what other guardians sometimes whispered behind her back… or said to her face. Her ghost was Hershey, a chocolate colored ghost that lazily floated by the tactical display.

Perun was the youngest of the three, and in contrast to her two unusual compatriots, was something of a rising star among both other hunters and the vanguard in general. She was beautiful, with ivory hair that flowed, moonshadow eyes, and a startling crimson lipstick that shined like a beacon from her unblemished skin. She was deadly, weaving through combat with an acrobatic flair that caught the attention of any who saw her fight. She was sassy, managing to effortlessly walk the line between duty and rebelliousness that all hunters struggled with. Yes, unlike her peers Perun was destined for greatness, she was the archetype of the hunter pedigree, with all its virtues… and flaws. Her crystal white ghost was named Diamond, and it was never far from its mistress.

"Maybe if we drift in," Efrideet said, "cut all power and go cold?"

"pff," Perun scoffed, "It'll take us a damn week to get there at that rate."

"Okay," The heavy guardian tried again, pointing her finger at a lone alien vessel that was lurking about the edges of the star system, "what if we follow one of their scout ships in? Hide in the heat of its exhaust trail?"

"The scout ship would see us sneaking up." Perun grumbled, "That trick only works if you can find a nice, fat, happy, merchant ship, they never pay close attention to their sensors."

"Well…" Efrideet struggled, desperately trying to come up with a plan. She'd been sure the scout ship idea was a winner… wait… scout ship. "Wait, what if we just take scout ship?"

"How?" Perun asked, "We'd never get close enough without being noticed."

"We give them something else to look at." Efrideet extolled. "Here, this one is surveying the outermost planet. Suppose we set off an explosion of some kind on the surface, then while they're looking, we speed in, block their communications, transmat over, and take the ship."

"You know how to fly an alien ship?" Perun asked with a raised eyebrow.

"With three ghosts, I'm sure we can figure it out." Efrideet grinned, confident, energetic.

Perun glanced at Gheleon. The elder hunter gave a nod. Perhaps a terse nod, but definitely a sign of approval. "All right, let's get started then." Perun said wasting no time. "We're going to need spare heavy ammunition crates to get the kind of boom we're going to need. Diamond, are you still in contact with the ghost that's trapped on Shan-Xi?"

"Yes," The ghost said, its feminine voice sultry and full of posh, "Navigator Pressly and his guardian are currently hiding in the remains of one of the old cosmodromes. He states the aliens are hostile and searching for them but he does not believe the aliens are currently aware of their position."

"Tell them to keep hidden," Perun said with a smirk, "the cavalry is on its way."

* * *

Forty minutes to get to the unnamed planetoid. Another twenty to transmat to the surface, ride their speeders to a perfect spot, transmat down a dozen heavy weapon ammo synthesis crates, set a timer, transmat back to the ship, park the ship above a good scanning position, kill most of the ships power to bleed any excess heat… and then the wait.

The boom was nothing spectacular. On an inhabited planet it wouldn't have drawn any notice at all. But on a dead world? With a scout ship buzzing around looking for anything to break the monotony of a boring patrol? It was big enough. The alien ship could have parked where it was and sent down a team, but that wouldn't be safe. No, far safer to bring the ship in, get a good look from orbit, a solid visual sweep before you send anyone down into potential danger to see what happened.

It's remarkably hard to fool the sensors on a ship, especially active sensors, eagerly hunting for any sort of energy emissions. While lying doggo helped, even Perun's ship would be unlikely to remain hidden from a thorough sensor sweep of her area of space at close range to the hunting ship. But the trick isn't to fool sensors, it's learning how to hide from the people operating them. Star systems were full of junk that reflected off different kinds of sensors, asteroids, meteors, debris, natural and artificial satellites… Sensor operators had the crushing responsibility of sorting through the various ambient blips that their sensors picked up and marking what was important, and what was background. And whoever was running their sensor screen wasn't paying close attention to space, he was anxiously studying the new burst of energy on the planet, trying to bring up and examine visual footage, comparing the energy spike to previous ship recordings to establish a baseline, informing other officers of his findings, directing various technicians in a thousand odd tasks to improve the quality of his information… and certainly not paying any attention to the minute amounts of energy coming from several thousand km behind his ship.

A few moments of inattention. For a team of Guardians that's all it takes to unleash havoc. A quick tap of the sublight drive, twenty minutes of waiting, a transmat to the enemy hull, three minutes of space walking to find an airlock, and two minutes for Efrideet's ghost to hack the door. That's everything you need to know to steal a ship. Except for the next part. When they kill every living thing they find.

* * *

Efrideet pushed a body off a control panel. Blue-ish purple blood coated the consol. "Can you get it working Hershey?" She asked her ghost. Her hand cannon held tightly in one hand. She was pretty sure she'd cleared the bridge, but not positive there wasn't another alien lurking somewhere.

"Dos is more complicated." Her sugary sweet companion boasted, "They don't use any kind of AI programming or assistance, so it's really easy to access…oh, good news, it seems the jamming worked. They were unable to send a communication to the fleet. I'm setting a course for Shan-Xi. I'm in contact with the nameless ghost and Diamond. Gheleon has taken a perch in engineering in case any of the aliens head that way. Perun is looking around the ship for anything we can scavenge."

"Can you access anything beyond navigation from this console?" Efrideet asked.

"Yes," Hershey said. "Most of the ships computers are wired through this room."

"What can you tell me about them?"

"Give me a moment." The chocolate ghost requested. "There are fragmentary records and data files aboard the vessel, but it has notable holes. It seems the ship is out of range of what they call the extranet which is where more complete records would be located and apparently Perun emptied her machine gun into the main server room. So most of what I have is scavenged from personal journals and the captain's log. The race is called Quarrians... and apparently they're at war with another race called the Geth. They also seem to be afraid of Turian patrols, and are fleeing from… something. This ship is under orders to examine the edges of the system for any further ruins and to look for something called a mass relay. No specific information on what exactly a mass relay is. All navigation data appears to have lost. Pity, would have been nice to get a good look their maps."

"What about communication protocols? Will we be able to talk with their fleet?"

"…I can activate the coms, and use their language, but records of past communications rooms seem to be among the missing data."

"…well shit." The hunter said.

* * *

Typically any ship approaching a fleet is blasted by a series of hails. Communication protocols checking and rechecking that the approaching vessel is exactly who they say they are, and that they have a damn good reason for approaching the flotilla. Ships were checked against recorded emissions for the class, communications officers were queried with coded phrases about their purpose. Answers were cross checked with dispatches or standing orders from fleet command, so that by the time a ship got into weapon range everyone was 100% positive of exactly who the approaching ship was, what they wanted, and if they were going to be allowed in the perimeter, or attacked.

Of course… the Quarian Migrant fleet was not a military organization. It was a group of nomadic refugees, held together by a thin frosting of military governance and the illusion of a civilian council. Legally speaking, a Quarian ship could leave the fleet whenever they wanted, and return with only a passing conversation with perimeter ships. It was the job of the fleet's outriders, the vessels scouring the edges of whatever system the Migrant fleet was located in, to act as a picket and query any arriving vessels, or warn the fleet if someone passed them by. Unfortunately, such outriders were the first and last line of defense. There was no procedure for querying a returning picket. Tens of Thousands of Quarian sensor operators noticed the heat emission off the returning vessel, did a simple scan, identified it as a Quarian vessel… and did nothing else. Not when it moved through the fleet, and not when it entered the atmosphere of the alien planet…and that's everything you need to know about rescuing a lost comrade blockaded by an enemy fleet. Except for the next part. When they kill every living thing they find.

* * *

 **Massive Author's Note:**

Something people forget, if you aren't on the bridge of a warship you have no idea what's happening outside. At all. Typically you'll receive orders and updates as a situation progresses, Most of the Quarian crew was probably unaware anything was happening until they were gunned down or heard shooting. Most were probably unarmed; many likely had their barriers turned off. While the Guardians could have stopped to talk or taken hostages… In my experience the Guardian Modus Operandi is:

Standard Procedure: kill everything.

Corollary: Kill everything and take their stuff. Especially if that stuff is blue, purple, or gold.

Corollary 2: The enemy is numberless. When time is a factor run past unimportant enemies to kill important ones.

Corollary 3: When living is a factor: Run Away.

Negotiating is at best a waste of time, and at worst suicidal. Guardians aren't going to stop because their targets aren't armed… they're going to kill them before they become a problem. It's a dangerous galaxy, and guardians have a reputation as some of the most dangerous things in that galaxy for a reason. (As a personal note, I'd love to show up and find a bunch of unarmed Cabal one day. Left all their big shields in the armory to grab a cup of coffee. Would make my day.)

Perun, Efrideet, and Gheleon: I've been tight lipped about when exactly this story occurs in the  
Destiny Timeline, but these three Guardians should give a pretty good indicator.

Sorry the chapter was so short, I kept writing scenes that I felt would work better somewhere else. Has that ever happened to anyone else?


End file.
